


Assistance

by ddagent



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Episode Remix, F/M, First Aid, Healing, Interrogation, Partnership
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-12 02:46:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3340706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddagent/pseuds/ddagent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Thompson's interrogation leaves Jarvis bloodied and bruised, Peggy considers whether their partnership needs to come to an end. Remix of 103.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Assistance

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Agent Carter or any of its characters, or settings - all belongs to Marvel and ABC.
> 
> I've had this in my fic drawer for about a month now, and I'm so happy that I managed to write the ending. I hope you enjoy!

When Thompson returned from the interrogation room, he took the handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped the blood from his fingers. Peggy winced as he screwed up the fabric and left it on his desk. She’d been sent out of the room after the third hit to the face, Dooley insisting that she be removed. During the war she’d seen a lot worse. But _here_ she was a delicate flower, crisp and fresh like that handkerchief had been. But neither she, nor the handkerchief, was so innocent anymore.  

 

“I tried as best I could, boss, but he’s not talking.” Thompson shoved a hand in his pocket, the other wiping away the sweat beading on his brow. “I could take another swing at him, but I don’t think Stark actually told him anything.”

 

Dooley nodded, rubbing his forehead in frustration. “ _Dammit_. I thought that was our lead. Carter, get up here.”

 

Peggy got to her feet, fingers clasped around one of the cryptography files she had been pretending to work on. She joined the small cluster of men just outside the briefing room. Thompson looked tired, Dooley looked pissed off. Sousa was simply disappointed. “Yes, Chief Dooley?”

 

“Call a cab for Mister Jarvis in there, send him packing.” She nodded. “Oh, and you’re really lucky Sousa caught you taking that report. Be more careful next time.”

 

She plastered on a weak smile, trying not to let her frustration show through. Agent Sousa had been just a little _too_ helpful. “Of course, Chief Dooley. It won’t happen again.” Taking a moment to pause, Peggy focussed on looking as unsteady as she could. “I was wondering if it would be possible to leave a little early today. I’m afraid Agent Thompson’s talents in the interrogation room have rather left me with a weak stomach.”

 

They despaired of her. Thompson rolled his eyes, no doubt adding this moment to his list of reasons why she was nothing more than a SSR charity case. Sousa appeared concerned. Dooley just waved his hand, glad to be rid of her. She was glad to be rid of them too.

 

“Don’t forget to call that cab!”

 

\--

 

Edwin Jarvis was escorted out of the SSR building by two agents, his hat forced low over his brow to hide the extent of his injuries. His movements were sluggish, painful, but the two agents did nothing to assist him. As soon as his loafers met the pavement he was no longer their responsibility. They abandoned him; Jarvis walking the last few paces to the kerb alone where the cab was waiting for him. His fingers stumbled over the handle, but eventually he managed to tug it open.

 

The brim of his hat lifted, and Peggy got a glimpse of his injuries before he lowered his head once more. She felt bile build up in the back of her throat. She had sat behind that glass until she could bear it no longer. She had tried to help, had wanted to do _anything_ to stop the beating of an innocent man. Howard had enlisted her to help him when no one else could. Peggy only wished she could have performed a similar service to the man sitting beside her.

 

“Let’s get you home.”

 

“ _No._ ” Jarvis’ tone was firm, thick. Peggy wondered if he could still taste the blood in his mouth. “Not there. I don’t want Anna to see.”

 

Peggy swallowed, glancing behind Jarvis to the SSR building behind them. There were few places she could take him. She certainly couldn’t take him back to the Griffith, not after what had happened with poor Molly. There was only one place that they could go. It was fast becoming a safe haven when one of them was injured in the field. “Stark’s apartment it is.”

 

She passed the address on to the driver, her shoulders dropping as they pulled away from the kerb. Peggy turned to Jarvis, her mouth opening as if to say something but nothing came out. _Thank you_ seemed so insignificant compared to what he had just endured for her. _I’m sorry_ didn’t come close either. She had been shot, beaten, had her nose broken on one memorable occasion. She knew the pain he was feeling, yet not the humiliation of being sat in an interrogation room with his hands tied behind his back and another man’s fist constantly connecting with flesh.

 

“I had it all worked out,” she heard slip from her lips. “The stolen car report was right in front of me. Sousa caught me taking it with the other files. I didn’t get another chance.”

 

Jarvis turned from her, looking out the window onto the busy streets of New York City. She opened her mouth again, this time perhaps to apologise or even to thank him. The words became stuck in her throat. Nothing seemed adequate.

 

\--

 

“I’ll get the first aid kit; you go to the spare bedroom. I’ll meet you there in a minute.”

 

A small bob of his head indicated his agreement, and Peggy immediately turned to find the kitchen. She remembered little from her one night’s stay in the luxurious apartment, but found what she needed in good time. She carried cloths, a bowl of cool water and a bottle of whiskey back to the spare bedroom where not that long ago Jarvis had sat stitching up her knee.

 

Jarvis was perched on the edge of the ottoman, hat resting beside him. She had seen a little of Thompson’s work, and in truth Jarvis had been let off lightly. His bottom lip was split and bleeding. There was blood around his nostrils, the brown stains on his handkerchief suggesting he’d mopped himself up the best he could. His right eye was black, there was a bruise forming above his cheek.

 

“I imagine I make quite the picture.”

 

“Very colourful,” Peggy said, slipping into the room with her supplies. She put the bowl of water down on the seat and wetted one of the cloths. “Not many men could say they went a round with Agent Thompson without spilling their guts.”

 

Jarvis snorted, wincing in turn. “Maybe if he hit lower I would be.” She raised one of the cloths to his face, intending to dab at his mouth. “Ms Carter, please. I can take care of myself.”

 

Peggy rolled her eyes, proceeding with the cloth against his mouth. He winced with every motion. This never should have happened. He shouldn’t have been put in that room in the first place, let alone been subjected to Thompson’s interrogation tactics. When Howard finally saw fit to return to New York, she would ensure he would be wearing his own black eye in sympathy. For now, there was only one thing she could do to ensure that this never happened again.

 

“Later tonight I would appreciate you letting me into Howard’s vault. Other than that, I won’t be requiring any more of your assistance.”

 

“Ms Carter…”

 

“I am grateful to you for your help,” Peggy said, not missing the quirk of his mouth as she mopped up his blood. “But there has to be a line and this is where it is. I can continue the investigation from here. I’m sure Howard intended for you to simply be a middleman. From now on, I will go it alone.”

 

Wetting another cloth, Peggy turned her attention to his nose. She gently probed it with her fingers, checking for any breakages.  It didn’t appear broken, just bruised and sore. Her left hand cupped his jaw, feeling his body tense as she held his face. She cleaned his nose, the white cloth staining red like Thompson’s handkerchief.

 

“I’d recommend ice, perhaps a good steak on your face to ease some of the swelling. You’ll hurt tomorrow morning, but you’ll heal.”

 

Jarvis nodded. “I’ll be fine. Fine enough to accompany you on your hunt this evening.”

 

Her hand stilled against his face. It was a mirror of the one she had seen in the interrogation room. Strong. Resolute. “This is not up for debate.”

 

“Oh I agree. I will be there, Ms Carter. Mister Stark asked me to assist you, he did not mean for me to abandon you.”

 

Peggy pulled away, dropping the cloth to the floor in frustration. “Your loyalty to Howard is admirable, but…”

 

“My loyalty to Mister Stark is irrelevant. I offer my services not for him, but for you.”

 

Peggy sat back, her gaze not focused on Jarvis but on the bloody cloths, the bowl of water. Her mind seemed to look past that, to the single image of Thompson’s handkerchief. War had taken a great deal from her, and the aftermath had been so slow, so quiet. She’d been so _eager_ to escape the banality of her life that she hadn’t realised that there was peace in that quiet. Peggy already had one grave on her conscience. She did not want there to be another.

 

“Today was a game. Thompson pushing you, hitting you, working you hard to get what he wanted. But there was a line and he may have danced _near_ it but he did not go _over_ it. The world out there does not abide by such rules and lines.” Peggy leaned in, finally holding Jarvis’ gaze. “My conscience is not able to stomach the thought of you in a wooden box.”

 

Her hand lingered on the ottoman. His own rested on top of it. “If my inaction led to you in a similar state, I would not be able to stomach it either. _Please. Let me help_.”

 

They held that position, hands touching, eyes watching, neither one of them wanting to pull away first. Eventually Peggy ducked her eyes, looking past Jarvis to the wall behind him. The warmth of his hand slowly slipped from hers. Sighing, Peggy reached for the second half of the first aid kit. Unscrewing the bottle of whiskey, she took the first gulp before offering it to Jarvis. His smile was thin, but it managed to touch his eyes.

 

Leaning against the ottoman, they passed the bottle of whiskey back and forth. “What will you say to your wife when she asks what happened to your face?”

 

Jarvis swallowed harshly, sucking in a deep breath before passing the bottle back. “I will simply say that I continue to struggle with one of Mister Stark’s paramours.”

 

Peggy chuckled, and beside her she heard similar laughter from Jarvis. She swallowed another mouthful, enjoying the slight burn as it ran down the back of her throat. Continuing to allow Jarvis to assist her still left her rather uneasy. There was a chance that one day she would have to tell his wife that her husband wasn’t coming home.

 

“I suppose that is one benefit to being alone. No one to explain the bruises to. No one to notify if things go wrong.”

 

She felt a hand against her shoulder, a thumb brushing her skin through her blouse. Peggy looked up, watching as his bottom lip seemed to tremble. “Ms Carter, I…”

 

But there was _him. Her partner_.“I know.”

 

Later that night, after his wounds had been cleaned and the whiskey had been drained, they helped each other in the darkness of a harboured boat. The uneasiness remained. But she did need support. Edwin Jarvis was hers.


End file.
